He shyly confessed that he worshipped me and was proud to be married to an educated and spirited woman.
The next several years were good, or as good as they could be for Jews living in a ghetto in Ciechanow. Benjamin was our first - born, and then I lost two, one stillborn and the other after a month. Then Helen was born, followed by a little boy, born in the spring just before Passover but he was dead by Yom Kippur in the fall. I don’t even want to say their names, my poor babies. Then Lillian, my little flower Lily was born. She was so cheerful, she could put a smile on a lump of coal. Helen was so protective of her. I would bake in the kitchen, Helen would help, Lilly would be in a wooden chair away from the stove and when Ben and other boys would come in, Helen would chase them out. My husband would have men over to the house on Saturdays after worship and I would serve food and drink. Reuben would insist that all the men stand up when I entered the room. Each one would introduce himself to me and say something polite and they would all wait until the last one had finished being introduced, before sitting again. In this way, Reuben showed his respect for me. We had ‘nacchus’. Honor. These men, these leaders of our community in Ciechanow were honored to be in my presence. In my home.
And then, before Passover, when Lily was two, the troubles erupted again. Some Polish boy was missing, probably ran away from home to escape being beaten by his drunken father. The priest preached the blood libel and the peasants attacked the ghetto. Some Jews were killed, many were beaten and stores and homes were looted.”
“What’s the blood libel?” Amy whispered. Eleanor glanced at Aunt Helen who had her eyes closed. “I’ll tell you later. Ask her another question?”
“And that’s why you came to America?” Amy asked, anticipating where Aunt Helen was in her story.
“And that’s why we came to America.” Aunt Helen said, opening her eyes and pointing her finger at Amy, repeating her question as a statement. “Reuben talked to the Rabbi first, then his father. He was still alive but very old. He knew he would never see his son again, but he gave his assent. Then my husband sat down with me and we discussed it as equals. He was quite a man, my Reuben. He said things would never change in Poland. It was an evil cycle of pogroms and persecution, of fear, of perpetual insecurity, of fleeing, of poverty, of misery, mourning and death. It was no place to bring children into this world and once we had done so, we had to be courageous and find a safe place to raise our family. He was trying to persuade me to be brave, but I had already decided, when I had heard from the Rabbi’s wife, that my husband, my Reuben wanted to take our family to America. I didn’t know then how strong I would have to be for the year he was gone. And even stronger for the journey. Reuben left with Benjamin. They were the first from Ciechanow to go across the ocean and but for a few short letters, I barely heard from him for the entire year. But I knew in my very soul that Reuben was alive and struggling, working, striving every day to get us to America. That was my Reuben, my husband.”
Helen sighed. Eleanor poked Amy to look at her great aunt, her eyes vacantly staring out the window, her face glowing with the memory of the love of her parents for each other and their children.
“And then the tickets arrived for passage from Hamburg to New York, with some money to travel from Ciechanow to Hamburg for me, Helen and Lilly. His letter was simple and beautiful. It said, ‘Come. Do not be afraid. I will be there to meet you and we will be together again.’ I went to the Rabbi who blessed us and then to Reuben’s father. The poor old man was so forlorn. He was now a widower, Reuben’s mother having died after her son left. The old man’s eyes, the windows to his heart, pleaded with me not to go, not to take Reuben’s children from him just yet. He had already lost Benjamin. He didn’t have much time left to live. Let the little girls stay with him until he died. His eyes pleaded and spoke these words to me.
But his mind, which controlled his lips, spoke the words of a blessing for the safe journey that would bear his granddaughters away from him forever.
We left Ciechanow by wagon in the wintertime. I had traveled around Plonsk and Ciechanow before and I was not afraid of this part of the trip, jouncing over frozen rutted roads, wrapped in blankets and huddled on hard benches in the back of the wagon, with only a ragged canvas cover overhead to protect us from the wind and snow. As a single woman, traveling with two small girls, while not fearful, I was cautious. I had sewed the money Reuben had sent into my clothes. The tickets for the ship’s passage were in a special pocket I had made in one of my undergarments. For good measure, Helen, who was seven at the time, had money sewed into her little skirt, at the band, hidden by a broad cloth belt.
Helen was always taking care of Lilly, keeping her warm by cuddling her, telling her stories and holding her hand whenever we were not in the wagon. We stayed in Jewish homes along the way, paying for the hospitality that would not have been refused even if we had been penniless. Fortunately, at one of these stops, in a small German town, the family gave me the address of a place to stay, a hotel in the Hamburg Ghetto. In Hamburg, I was scared. I had never seen such a big city. Why hadn’t Reuben warned me? The ghetto was three times as large as the entire town of Plonsk. The hotel we stayed in was filled with women accompanied by their children. It was there, I realized I was not alone. All those Jewish women, young mothers with children, we were all embarking on this long voyage together to meet our loved ones in America. It was comforting and we women were like sisters, trading information and helping each other. Some of my ‘sisters’ told me to buy extra blankets to hang as curtains for privacy on the ship. Others told me to buy biscuits to have as extra food for the voyage. Even with my ‘sisters’ around me, I felt real terror as I made our way down into the hold of the ship, carrying my Lilly and feeling Helen clinging to my skirt. I remember it was daytime, but the hold was dark and became darker than night when the hold cover was in place.
This was steerage. The poorest passengers were down here below deck. My Reuben hadn’t been able to afford anything else. It was dark with only a few lanterns. It smelled of oil and salt water, body odors and human filth. I followed the example of my ‘sisters’ and flattened our bundles of clothing on top of the thin mattress, which God knew held what diseases in its dirty stains, and hung the extra blankets on ropes to create our ‘room.’ We slept together, me holding Lilly, and Helen on the other side with her face to Lilly’s back, her arm on mine. We were a chain of love to protect Lilly. The Jewish women and their children occupied one part of the hold. Single Jewish men were next and then, nearest to the stairs leading up to the lower deck were the non-Jews, Poles, Ukrainians, Russians, some Latvians and Germans.
I can tell you of all kinds of difficulties of that voyage, seasickness and the ever present bitter smell of vomit, toilets which didn’t work after the first week, filth like worms and droppings in the food they gave us, which we had paid for as part of the ticket price, dirty clothes which couldn’t be washed, theft of belongings and fights, even among the women over God knows what.
But it was the rumors, which were the worst for me and made the journey so terrible. The endless rumors which fed on our ignorance and traveled throughout the hold, from one anxious mother to the next, like a foul odor you couldn’t get out of your nostrils. There were rumors that our ship had to turn around and go back. How were we to know? We didn’t even know which direction we were supposed to be sailing. Then, the ship had to stop in England and we would all be taken off and held there. Why, no one knew. Then, that the Russian men on board were kidnapping young Jewish girls and raping them, or that the German crew was doing this. Some mothers, myself included, took turns staying up at night to give an alarm.
The worst rumor, and the one which turned out to be true, was that when we arrived in America, any family with a sick child would be quarantined and then sent back. I lived in daily, no hourly terror that my girls would get sick. Eye diseases, skin infections, coughs, and bloody diarrhea. Anything that would be noticed when they were examined. I was more wor
ried about Lilly because she was only three. She was cheerful and smiling but I imagined she was getting sick. Every cough or sneeze of hers sent me into a panic. Helen sensed my anxiety and would watch over her baby sister like a nurse on duty. If another child nearby coughed, Helen would grab Lilly’s hand and move her away. She made sure Lilly wore her little wool hat when they opened the hold cover in the morning and that she was covered with the blanket when we went to sleep at night. My Helen was a blessing to me as I told her that many times afterwards. She disobeyed me only once on that voyage and I thank God in Heaven that she did.
When they opened the hold cover in the mornings, it was to give us passengers in steerage some fresh air. We looked up at the sky God created and could breathe again. You could almost see the bad odors rising out of the hold, joining with the steam coming from the funnel and disappearing above our ship. It was an airing out of our home at sea and, even though we couldn’t wash our clothes, at least we felt cleaner. Our ship had two decks above the steerage. The first class passengers’ cabins were on the top deck. So was their dining room. They used to stroll around the deck after breakfast, leaning against the railings, elegantly dressed, sleek and well fed, peering down into the open hold at those of us in steerage. We were just thankful for the daylight and the air.
I don’t remember when it started, but sometime during the voyage, the first class passengers began throwing food, taken from their dining room, down into the hold, to watch the children in steerage scramble and fight for breakfast rolls, a boiled egg, some fruit. Helen wanted to go, but I sternly forbade her. I told her even though we were poor, we were not beggars. We had, nacchus. Honor. And she obeyed me. This morning ritual continued, by people who should have known better, throwing their table scraps to those less fortunate. By that contemptuous gesture, they deprived the poorest of the poor of their dignity as well. God, on Judgment Day, will know upon whom it reflected worse.
Then Lilly got sick. They said we were less than a week from America. At first it was a runny nose. I wiped my poor Lilly’s nose so much it almost came off. Then it became a little cough, just in her throat. I was beside myself with anxiety. I was able to get some hot tea from a woman but it didn’t help my Lilly. Instead, it got worse, a chest cough which shook her little body. She stopped smiling and her cheeks lost their color. To me, she seemed listless and when Helen and I held her at night, she tossed and slept fitfully. It was after one of these nights, the hold cover was pulled back and I remember the sky was blue and the warmth of the morning sun was just beginning to creep over the railing. The first class passengers began their usual after breakfast stroll on the upper deck. I was standing, holding Lilly in my arms, her face toward the sun, hoping that the fresh air would do her some good, when I realized that Helen had let go of my skirt and was running toward the center of the hold. I saw her leap into the air for an orange. An older boy hit her on her cheek with his elbow and grabbed for the fruit at the same time. I saw Helen fall, I remember screaming and running toward her, but she got up before I reached her. Both of her hands were clutched to her stomach and at first I thought she had been kicked as well. She would not take my hand but walked with me, her thin body doubled over, away from the mass of children still scrambling for table scraps from the rich. Already, she had a purple bruise from the side of her eye midway down her cheek. She sat down, unfolded her hands and there nestled in her stained, brown skirt was the orange. I looked at her with tears in my eyes, tears of concern for my oldest daughter and tears of joy that God had given me such a daughter as Helen. My Helen. Such a tigress. I brushed her cheek gently and kissed her on her forehead. Then with my nails, I peeled the orange and fed it slowly to my Lilly. The next day the cough was gone and the day after, we landed in New York.”
“My God,” Eleanor whispered. She looked at Amy who was crying.
“Was your husband there to meet you?” Amy asked sniffling and wiping her eyes. She wasn’t sure at first Aunt Helen had heard her. Aunt Helen sat in the wing backed chair, leaning forward slightly, as if looking for someone, with her eyes closed but her head expectantly searching in front of her.
“Reuben was there.” Aunt Helen laughed. “I don’t know why God made me so short, but the same God made my Reuben so tall. I didn’t know where to look. The American officials asked us some questions, the doctors examined us and then we were in a large hall. I was in a daze, looking around but there were people in front of me and I couldn’t see over them. All I could see were the backs of heads and shoulders of those before me. Helen was holding on to my hand and I was carrying Lilly. There must have been a space in the crowd because I heard Reuben calling my name before I saw him. ‘Hannah. It’s me Reuben. Over here.’ From his vantage point, he had caught a glimpse of me. And there he was with Benjamin, our son. We were together again as a family, in America. Together in America. It was so wonderful just to say it.”
Aunt Helen sank down into chair, an exhausted smile on her face, as if she had just completed the transatlantic voyage. Her head fell on her chest and she began snoring softly.
“Mom,” Amy said desperately. “Like, I didn’t take a single note.” She pointed at her blank pad. “I forgot. I didn’t write down a thing.”
“It’s ok, Amy. We’ll sit down tonight and talk about what we remember Aunt Helen said. Her story goes back in time to when your great grandmother was a young girl, before she was married. Probably around the 1890s. That’s much better than what Aunt Helen could have remembered as a seven - year old girl on the ship coming over. You’re going to have quite something to tell your Hebrew class. Look, I have to go see Ms. Bernstein. Stay here with Aunt Helen and write down now what you can remember. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Eleanor found Molly in her office. She explained that she had left Amy with Aunt Helen and had to get back upstairs soon. Molly accommodated her and came right to the point.
“The issue with her cataract operation is how to keep Helen from rubbing her bandaged eye. With some residents we sedate them. Heavily. It’s hard to predict their reactions. Sometimes, the sedatives make them wacky for a week. I’m hoping that Amina’s presence that afternoon will have a calming effect and we can try a much lighter sedation. We can also restrain her but that sometimes makes people fight harder. I suspect that’s what Helen would do. It would help if Mitch could hang around for a few hours, maybe through Helen’s dinner. Just to be a reassuring presence for her. We also will need a family member’s approval if we have to go the heavy sedation route. Or restraints.”
Eleanor thought about it for a moment, seeing in her mind the weekly calendar on the refrigerator. “The kids have nothing special on that afternoon, but” she hesitated, “it is a school night. Otherwise, we all could be here. Maybe we still can do it. At the very least, either Mitch or I will be here through the early evening.”
“That’ll be fine. Let’s see how Helen does after the operation. She certainly is a tough independent lady. She’s my lone wolf.”
“Someday, I’ll tell you the story she just told me and my daughter. She was tough and brave even as a seven year old. Look, I’m sorry to cut this short, but Amy’s alone upstairs with her.”
Aunt Helen was still asleep. Amy had closed her pad and was stroking Aunt Helen’s hand, when Eleanor came back.
“Mom. I think we should bring Aunt Helen an orange whenever we come to visit. It would be our way of remembering what she did for dad’s mother.”
“That’s a nice thought, sweetheart. We’ll do that. This must be your father,” she said reaching into her purse for the cell-phone. She had barely finished giving Mitch instructions where they were, when Josh bounded around the corner, waving a plastic shopping bag.
“Mom, Amy. We bought the coolest stuff for tomorrow. We’ve got turkey jerky and beef jerky, and a great trail mix with nuts and chocolate.”
“Oh,” Eleanor said, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “I didn’t know that Lewis and Clark took chocolate with them.�
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“It’s mostly dried fruit and nuts,” Mitch said defensively, “with a few small chunks of chocolate mixed in.” He bent down and kissed her. “How’d it go.”
“It was wonderful, dad,” Amy said. “Aunt Helen talked as if she were her mother. She told us about Cossacks and her getting married to my great grandfather and the boat voyage and how Aunt Helen fought this boy for an orange to save your mother from being sent back because she was sick.”
Mitch looked at Eleanor for an explanation.
“Helen told the story as she must have heard it from her mother. She was her own mother talking to us. It was very moving. Amy and I were both crying, or at least teary eyed.”
“Wow,” Josh said. “That’s like the science fiction movie, Nate told me about. It’s in the future, like the 22nd century and special people can hear people in the past. They tell them what to do and stuff.”
“You are sooo immature,” Amy said disdainfully to her brother. “This was our Aunt remembering everything as her mother told her. It’s a treasured story of our family. It’s our heritage,” she said proudly. She was about to say something else but Aunt Helen chimed in.
“What about old age? Who’s old? Who are we talking about?” She stopped, seeing Mitch, holding a plastic bag. “What did you bring me? What did you bring me?”
“I bought some dried apricots and figs, Aunt Helen. For Amina. Remember you asked me to buy something for her?”
The Orange Tree Page 15
